


Five moments

by aspiratixn



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: It's a mesh, M/M, there's some sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 02:01:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5229632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspiratixn/pseuds/aspiratixn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes there's those moments that really matter. Sometimes there's those movie-star kisses that can't be ignored.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five moments

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for makkiro (makkiro.tumblr.com) whom I adore and love. For all the gay Hanamatsu's we have had and will have my friend.

**5**

“Hiro!” That small, childish voice rang out, causing a caramel-reddish haired boy to turn around to see a slightly taller one hurtling at him at death kilometers per hour. Shrieking, the shorter of the two ran away, with no luck. Caught almost immediately, Makki lets out another yell as Mattsun couldnt stop himself and they toppled over, in a messy bundle of limbs that smacked each other in the face and all around. Ouch.

Sitting up, Matsukawa has the widest, shit eating grin on his face while Makki looks like he’s about to cry. Which he does. Because that actually really hurt and stop running at death kilometers an hour Mattsun. Feeling increasingly more guilty, Issei has a brilliant idea and leans over, squishing Makki’s tear stained face and kissing him, a long but rather superficial one. “Don’t be so sad Ma-chan, you’re stronger than me!” Okay that’s a lie but it gets Makki to stop crying and that’s enough for now.

**4**

“Ma-a-a-kki.” Yawning, the now taller Mattsun leaned over and hooked his best friend by the neck. “Wanna join the volleyball team?” He’s about six centimeters taller than Hanamaki now (to which the usual reasoning was that the pink haired one simply hadn’t reached his growth spurt while the black haired one was more “evenly spread” in growth). Kitagawa Daiichi’s team was excellent, consisting of the best setter and the most reliable ace and hopefully, coming soon, two relatively tall blockers.

This was really a first, since Issei was never one to offer to do things. It was always Takahiro dragging him around to join various activities. But this time it was reversed and really, neither could reject the other once they brought out the pleading eyes and the slightly pouty lip. No one could beat Makki at it but damn if Mattsun wasn’t cute. “You’re going to have to bribe me into it.” Like everything else, they also took turns bribing each other for things. Or rather it was more like Makki bribing his best friend.

It happens faster than he can process and Matsukawa’s already smug as he drags his still stunned, just kissed best friend to the gym, where the squeaky shoes that will follow them through are already squeaking away. His lips are soft as hell. Matsukawa’s cheeks are just a tad red when he announces they want to join the team and only then is Makki functioning, screeching _hOLD THE FUCK UP I DID NOT AGREE TO THIS_.

**3**

It's late at night and they're arguing, like stupid 15 and 16 year olds do. Makki going on about something ridiculous and Mattsun sick of hearing it. He raises his voice and there's silence; he never does that. That sleepy voice has never raised above its quiet whisper. It shocks them both and he takes a step back, apologies sitting on the edge of his lip, mouth slightly open. None come out but he looks as bad as he feels. And they're standing there awkwardly, with this feeling of regret boiling in a pot that hasn't quite blown its lid.

"I--" The first to speak is Hanamaki, who wants his precious platonic (so far) soulmate to stop making that face, to stop looking so hurt and remorseful for something that he didn't do.

The words come spilling out of Matsukawa's mouth before he's fully aware of what they are. Throat closed, hard to breathe, the words are pouring like water through a clogged drain. "Don't. It's not… Not your fault." And they're so far apart, like a universe has come between two who used to be side by side even when they were across the school campus. "I shouldn't have yelled."

And then Makki's flying forward, grasping for the one he wants by his side the most. Don't leave me, don't _go_. He reaches and clutches the fabric of a shirt in his hand, leaning up and pressing his lips to Mattsun's in a desperate clash of emotions. He won't. He just won't let him go, not like this or really, not ever. _Don't leave me please I'm sorry I didn't mean for that to happen just don't **go**_. And suddenly they're at a deadlock, one arm squished between them, one clutching at Matsukawa's shirt and the other two thrown carelessly over Makki's thin shoulders. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry--

The chant goes on for quite a while before they break, gasping for air. A crackly chuckle escapes him. "Sorry Makki, I didn't meant to yell."

A shake of his head, red-caramel-pink-whatever color hair swishing just a tad. "It's okay, my fault."

And they're two teenagers, holding onto each other as if the world was ending, as if water were drawing up to their necks and for once, they're in agreement. _I will never leave you alone in this world_.

**2**

They lost. God they _lost_ and the clenched fists, the bitten lips, the straining to keep tears from dripping down sweat glistening cheeks. God _dammit_. They can't face the crowd but they try anyways, lining up one by one. Tooru, Issei, Takahiro, Hajime. Slowly, one painful number at a time. One, two, "THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT" and they all bow, no longer straining to keep that brave face. There's no point because no one will see them shed a few tears and it's okay because they're leaving anyways.

The locker room is hell. The younger ones can't keep it up and poor Kindaichi's struggling to _breathe_ , apologizing to everyone. I should have spiked better, should have blocked better, should have read better. Iwaizumi is the one to pull everyone together; reliable Hajime who won't shed a tear until everyone is long gone. He grinds out the words but the emotions, the pain and pride and joy and anger is all there, genuine as if he were screaming at them from the first day he met them all.

"You did well. There is _nothing_ to regret. I'm proud of this team. We are strong and someday, we _will_ play together again."

Now everyone's bawling, first and second years alike, supporting each other. It's the four third years that stand tall, stand proud, stand without shedding tears. That's to be expected they think as they trickle out, the four standing and facing the room that has become so familiar to them.

Tooru is the first to break down, as silent as the stars at night. He crumples, soft apologies blowing to full on sobs that pull at heartstrings. He wails; he wanted to play more with everyone. He wanted, he just wanted them to win together as a team. The more he cries, the harder it is to hold tears together, to hold each other together.

Makki follows not too soon after. His does not start small but comes in a cascade, blubbering and snot; the works. He pleads for another chance though he knows in his hands, in his head, in his heart it won't come. He doesn't want to leave them; they're _family_. It's unfair; how could they break the team apart like this. He's clutching Issei's shirt and sobbing into the shoulder, while Matsukawa and Iwaizumi take their turns comforting the other two, interchangeably as if they're one whole and not four separate.

Hajime's tears are absolutely silent. They fall without the notice of the other three until they drip onto Issei's hand and then he's there, holding Oikawa and resting his chin in the taller's fluffy milk chocolate brown hair, the shade of golden sun rays hitting brown irises. He buries his face there and stops himself from crying any louder; he can't let anyone know. Being weak for a moment is acceptable, he knows but his pride chews at him. He won't show. Absolutely.

Sweeping green eyes take everything in. The crying three, two screaming to the skies and one mourning against the ground. The slightly ajar locker door where Iwaizumi once slammer Hanamaki into it in a fit of rage. The stained wall where Oikawa bloodied it, a scrape on his knee. The marker tags they ticked along the corner of the wall, where they counted the number of times they had come in victorious, and then red ones where they retreated in defeat.

God it hurts.

Leaning down, he rests his forehead against Takahiro's, closing those golden flecked eyes as the other cries. He leans forward and presses his lips there and it's one of those kisses that only shows in movies. The one where the desperate heroine tries to pep talk the hero into doing some impossible task, where she's falling apart and he's the only thing that can save her. The kind where there's only the last tug on his shirt before he smiles and walks into the sunset, to wherever the hell movie stars go. The one with passion that can overcome anything, but this kind of heartache. The one that's so incredibly gentle it's like he's handling glass. The one that says _I love you_. The one.

It hurts, it hurts so much. It's like shredding a heart, cutting through the interventricular septum, slicing through the chordae tendineae. Yeah, it hurts.

"Stupid Issei, couldn't have waited until we left?" Hajime's voice is rough and thick and he can only laugh as he glances over to where the ace is cradling their invincible captain.

"Sorry Hajime." The phrase is given and it sounds thick and there's the start of those unbearable tears in Matsukawa's eyes. Dammit.

They _lost_.

**1**

"Sorry Mattsun." The ICU is funny that way; there's a lot of apologies in a place where people are supposed to come out healthy. He doesn't think he'll ever come out healthy and hell, if he can ever walk. They said, they said. It's irreplaceable damage, it's nearly fatal, he'll be spotty for a couple weeks, we have to keep him inside, he's a lucky soul, we'll pull him through, don't worry.

Fuck that, he's going to worry. Those white coats and colorfully pink scrubs and the ever adoring "are you alright dearie"s are starting to make him feel more stressed than ever. And Hanamaki in the hospital really isn't helping. Every day he can, he's there, by the bed side, holding the roughened hand, counting the callouses he knows so well. The ones because of volleyball but also the ones where Makki tried to fix the apartment window, the ones from gripping the bookshelf so hard it cracked, the ones from playing with the neighborhood kids and proving his strength with a grand one pull up. He's there's brushing the strands of hair that are a gentle fading pinkish-brown where the real caramel-red is growing back in. He missed that, he really did.

 _Don't go_.

It's been years and years since they had first kissed. It seems so long ago, childhood. Now they're dysfunctional adults, struggling together in a shitty apartment where everything falls apart in seconds: the bed, the door, the window, the relationship, the lives.

He grips the other's hand tighter and presses the back of Makki's hand to his lips. He doesn't pray; praying does nothing for a non-believer and believe it, that's exactly what Takahiro is. But he does plead the other lying in the hospital bed to please, please, _please_ _wake up_. Please wake up, please be okay, _please be **alive**_. Even if you can't walk, even if you can't play volleyball anymore, even if you don't chase me I won't care, just come back to me.

His own breathing is beyond labored but he relaxes his grip forcibly, making sure he doesn't cut off blood flow; there's little in Hanamaki's body as is.

One look. His face is plastered in gauze and paper tape, hiding the beautiful freckles that dot along Makki's cheekbones. There's one particular pad that cover his right eye, possibly blind they said. His face is just bruised all over, the patches of skin that are uncovered are blue and black and purple, like other worldly flowers spawned over the pale-tan skin. His lips are still the same, a little cut but still the same. The lips Matsukawa has kissed a million times, laughing or crying or furious or passionate.

I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you.

It blends together and regardless of the warnings, he leans forward and presses his chapped lips to the soft ones. They feel the same as the first time, soft and slightly pursed and tasting faintly of cream puffs.

There are things people want in relationships. Cute morning kisses, lazy morning sex, afternoon cuddles, hot chocolate nights and star gazing from dusk til dawn. There are relationships where it's like you're dying when you're away and that the angels have begun to sing when you're close and there are relationships that when you touch, it's like you've begun to live. There are relationships where you can talk about anything, where you can breathe and kiss and live in sync together. There are relationships people want where every kiss to the cheek or forehead is just as good as one to the lips. There are relationships where you want to hear their voice just before you go to bed, the roughened "good night" and "sweet dreams" of sleep deprivation from the other end.

There are things people want in relationships. And Matsukawa knows that none of that will be as good as what he has with Hanamaki Takahiro because there are no words to describe a relationship where even knowing them has sent the brightest fireworks into the deepest black hole of space, exploding in light and creating just one more star, one more supernova, one more white-green-pink-blue twinkled galaxy.

Because I love you and nothing else will make me happier than you have, so come back to me.

I need you.

 


End file.
